


Liminal

by Good0mens



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bathing/Washing, Canon Queer Character of Color, Crusades Era Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair Washing, Hand Jobs, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Kinda, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Loves Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Pre-Canon, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Well they're getting there, nicky's love language is acts of service, speedrun edition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good0mens/pseuds/Good0mens
Summary: Liminal/ˈlɪmɪn(ə)l/adjective1. relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.2. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.They are occupying the liminal space between enemies and lovers: the “crossing over” space - a space where you have left something behind, yet you are not fully in something else. A transition space.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 31
Kudos: 279





	Liminal

**Author's Note:**

> i will make the words work as i want them to, unbounded by their proper definitions. i liked the idea of them as a liminal space, and just kinda ran with it. hope you enjoy <3

The liminal space between their hesitant bodies is just that – space. A sore separateness, humid and heavy, only soothed by Yusuf’s gentle hands along his jawline. Nicolò looks up at Yusuf’s tall form framed by the sun, lingering on every decadent moan that Yusuf utters, gaze fixed upon the way his lips part open, the rise and fall of his infallible chest.

Nicolò shifts from his place on the ground, opens his mouth to lick the head of Yusuf’s cock. He revels in how Yusuf’s fingers flutter along his cheekbones, like he wants to tighten his hold and take what he wants from Nicolò. He doesn’t, thumb caressing his skin in a way that has Nicolò feeling it all the way down his spine.

He wants to fold his hands into prayer and ask God –

_Lord, who do I devote myself to, when he looks more like the messiah from on my knees than those cold statues ever did? Why, Lord, does the gentle way he caresses the hollow of my throat throb more than his saif ever did?_

_If my body is unbreakable, Lord, then how does his very gaze ruin me?_

Nicolò thinks it might have been easier if Yusuf hated him. If Yusuf had buried him deep beneath the surface of the sand in Jerusalem, so that he may never gaze upon the light of the sun again. At least then Nicolò could explain why he can’t breathe.

* * *

Nicolò has relearned death as _temporary_ , as another liminal space; as merely a stopping point before the breath re-enters his lungs. He relearns hunger as the aching shape of Yusuf’s chin as it fits itself over Nicolò’s shoulder at night.

When did _how much of you can I take_ become _what won’t I bear, for you?_

* * *

There’s so much blood on them. Clovers of clots in Yusuf’s curls, sticky underneath his fingernails. Nicolò watches from his place in the river as Yusuf tries to wash his hair, yanking frustratedly at the stubborn strands that cling to the blood.

A stab of sympathy runs through him, has him swallowing a lump in his throat. It’s ridiculous; he’s seen Yusuf endure worse, has _done_ far worse to him, so why does something as trivial as this make his heart stutter in alarm?

“May I?” Nicolò offers before can think better of it, hand outstretched, palm tilted upward.

Yusuf hesitates for a long moment, watching him with guarded weariness. Nicolò waits as patiently as he can, trying not to convey his desperation to help Yusuf in this simple task. He understands; it’s a different kind of intimacy, allowing someone to take care of you. Nicolò has bared his throat for Yusuf’s greedy mouth, but baring his heart is an entirely different matter.

Finally, Yusuf seems to give in, tentatively giving him the bottle of oil. Nicolò settles in behind Yusuf, his back to Nicolò’s chest, unstoppering the vial to pour some onto his hand. There’s something dangerous and disquieting in the way Yusuf’s shoulders loosen, completely at ease with his back turned to Nicolò.

_Bury me, bury me, bury me._

“Tilt your head for me?” Nicolò murmurs softly, quietly pleased and yet utterly terrified with Yusuf’s easy acquiesce to his request.

He soothes some oil into Yusuf’s hair to loosen the tight curls, fingertips brushing Yusuf’s temple, the shell of his ear, the nape of his neck, as he rubs the viscous liquid in with soothing circles.

He cups his palms in the water and lets it pour over Yusuf’s head, watching as the blood washes into the river out of his hair, dispersing into the body of water. He’s reminded, suddenly, of the stories of Moses turning the river Nile into blood. He wonders if his body has bled enough yet to fill up this stream, and how much of it belongs to Yusuf.

Nicolò drizzles a little more oil on his hand, before working it slowly into the dark strands. He tugs a little at them, just to watch the way they bounce back into small ringlets.

Yusuf shivers, and Nicolò feels gluttonous, his touches becoming more deliberate in his eagerness. He rakes his nails up Yusuf’s neck lightly and leans forward to breathe in the scent of the oil on Yusuf’s clean skin. Yusuf curses quietly, the lilting language dripping off his tongue like myrrh, and Nicolò wants to _taste it._

He shifts backwards and urges Yusuf to turn around before sidling up into Yusuf’s lap. Bare skin meets bare skin, the water lapping around their groins. Yusuf looks at him from under his lashes, dappled with droplets, and he is so beautiful that Nicolò can barely stand to look at him.

Nicolò leans forward slowly, making his intentions clear, but Yusuf only closes his eyes and tilts his head up to meet Nicolò in a gentle brush of lips. Nicolò’s breath is caught up in his chest, heart thumping loud against his ribcage. Then Yusuf parts his mouth and they’re tilting their heads to get closer, and Nicolò’s hand finds Yusuf’s neck to cradle his head as he kisses and kisses and kisses Yusuf breathless.

Insisting, irreverent; that’s how Nicolò’s other hand trails down Yusuf’s chest, circling a nipple to hear Yusuf shiver again, this time catching the sound with another consuming kiss. The hand on Yusuf’s neck travels into Yusuf’s hair to sink into his curls as his other fists him, hard and hot, velvet temptation.

Yusuf gasps, breaking their kiss, and Nicolò watches the rapturous ecstasy on Yusuf’s face as his long fingers wrap around him, moving up and down in a steady, maddening pace. Yusuf’s eyes blink open, focusing on Nicolò for a moment before Yusuf’s hand finds his own cock and matches his rhythm.

Nicolò’s hips stutter, making their cocks brush together in a punch of pleasure. It only serves to make Nicolò moan brokenly and do it again, chasing that heated pressure. Yusuf knocks Nicolò’s hand away and wraps his own around both their cocks, his other hand pulling Nicolò’s body further into Yusuf’s lap.

Nicolò rolls his hips upward, chin bumping gently against Yusuf’s cheek in his eagerness. Yusuf groans as Nicolò rests his hands along Yusuf’s broad shoulders, fingertips clutching desperately at the divot between his shoulder blade and collarbone, using it as leverage to rub their pricks together more firmly.

Panting with the effort of moving, Nicolò rests their foreheads together. Yusuf’s lips are so near his own that they’re sharing shaky breaths, but they don’t kiss. It almost feels like a tease, but Nicolò is perfectly content to keep this up, craving the tenderness of it, the way he can barely focus on Yusuf’s eyes with their closeness.

 _Damn him_ , Nicolò thinks desperately as he reaches his peak. _Damn him and how good this feels._

How could Jesus condemn him for finding damnation in this desire, when they took the rib bone out of Yusuf and crafted Nicolò’s body with it? He can feel the way it calls out to Yusuf, relearning hunger and home and death and religion all at once as the liminal space between their mouths hovering over each other.

When Nicolò comes, Yusuf closes the gap with his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://peachpitandpomegranate.tumblr.com/)


End file.
